


A Tool to be Used

by winterdaffodils (zhem1x5)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Horcrux Hunting, Infidelity (not in the main pairing), M/M, Masturbation, Non-Sexual Submission, alternate seventh year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhem1x5/pseuds/winterdaffodils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry accepts Draco's help in the war.</p>
<p>Written for the 2012 HD_Smoochfest</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tool to be Used

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awakejupiter on lj](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=awakejupiter+on+lj).



> Prompt#: 5    
> Time Period: Deathly Hallows AU.  
> Object/Word Prompts: Tents, horcruxes, tension.  
> Action: Harry accepting Draco's help in the war.  
> Squicks/dislikes: LeatherPants!Draco.  
> Preferences/Other Notes: I'm fine with angst. 
> 
>  
> 
> I have to thank the divine slave driver, teapot, for lovingly abusing me and this into the much better state of being than it was before. I jumped on this prompt because it's a story I've been trying to make myself write for four years. Though you may wish I'd just written what would fill the prompt instead of running amok with it.
> 
> There is a conversation that is taken almost directly from pages 301-302 of DH. I shifted some things around to make them fit. Also the title is from chapter 17 of KC's Oath Breaker. I've always adored the line that 'the enemy of my enemy is a tool to be used.'

His breath sounded loud as he moved cautiously through familiar and thankfully deserted hallways. Draco kept his mother's spare wand drawn and ready, praying he would not have to cast when his presence had gone otherwise unnoticed. But the longer he remained in the manor he had always called home, the more likely he would be seen and reported. Finding the proper book had taken too long already.

Draco cradled the ancient tome protectively against his chest, careful steps leading him closer and closer to his father's study. He prayed the wards around the room had not changed but knew they might have been forced to change when he hadn't come home. But he had to try, it was the safest and easiest escape.

He cast another careful look around the corridor before tucking the book into the waistband of his trousers and trying the door. The response of the wards was immediate, accepting him like he'd hoped before a new ward took effect and trapped him.

Draco watched in growing horror as the spell spread, wrapping his fingers in an iridescent bubble before moving up his arm. He jerked and tried to pull away from the handle, but in seconds his shoulder was covered and no amount of pulling away was freeing him.

Draco hissed as it crossed over the back of his neck and moved down his wand arm. He cast every cutting curse he could think of at the door, hacking into the ancient wood until the bubble had encased even his wand and was moving down his hips.

He tried to throw himself away from it, to run even if there was nowhere safe to hide, but he was well and truly bound. Magic slithered over his thighs and knees, binding his calves and ankles before sealing his feet to the floor.

He twisted, trying to shift in the magic but constrained completely.

“Darling Draco,” the voice he least wanted to hear called from the head of the stairs.

Draco turned his head carefully, acknowledging her in the hopes of softening her future rage. “Auntie Bella,” he greeted politely.

“Your mummy and daddy,” she sneered, forever hateful of the man her sister had bound herself to, “have been so worried for their precious boy. One wonders what you've been doing with yourself.”

Draco winced as she walked closer, forcing a bland expression. “Studying of course, Auntie. Our Lord will expect me to be well-versed in Dark magic.”

“Such a darling sweet boy,” she mocked, trailing her fingers over the binding magic. “So committed to family.”

“Of course,” Draco answered quickly, hoping she wouldn't correct him. “Family above all else.”

“You've come home on a very special night, Draco,” she whispered, delight in every movement.

Draco shivered, grateful for the magic that hid his revulsion at what would make her so happy. “Why is that,” he asked carefully.

“We've finally captured Potter,” she gloated, dirty and ragged nails caressing his cheek. “We get to kill the boy at last.”

Draco froze, forcing a grim smile. “Good news indeed,” he croaked.

“Come along, darling Draco,” she commanded, canceling the spell's attachment to the floor and doorknob but leaving him trapped as her magic carried him along.

Draco closed his eyes, swallowing a sigh as he cleared his mind.

Being levitated down the dungeon stairs kept him from counting them so they seemed to go on forever. Deeper and deeper into hell and with no idea what would be waiting at the bottom, Draco drifted fretfully, trying to control his thoughts.

Occlumency was thirty percent keeping a calm faćade but even after years of practice he was having trouble knowing he would face her wrath if he failed.

He couldn't fail. Not now. Not after everything.

Faint torches were the only light allowed this far beneath the manor. Shadows twisted and stretched everywhere, thrown apart by their presence. Draco steeled himself for the sight of their cage.

“Malfoy,” they all seemed to shout at once, their outrage echoing off stone walls and dirt floors.

Draco tipped his head congenially. “Gryffindors.”

“What the hell are you doing down here, ferret,” Weasley growled, hands fisting around the bars.

“Come to look, isn't that right, Draco,” she cooed. “Finally get to see baby Potter exactly where he belongs.” She petted him, sliding her fingers through Draco's hair menacingly. “Your mummy and daddy will be so pleased you've returned.”

Draco nodded carefully, keeping his eyes warily on the trio facing him. This wasn't how the night was supposed to end. “Of course,” he whispered finally. “I should go and announce myself. I'm sure mother has been beside herself.”

Her nails were like talons, digging into his scalp. “She has.”

Draco willed them to understand even as her magic pulled him behind her.

“Come along, Draco. We have much to discuss.”

 

.oOo.

 

The words of the spell echoed unnaturally down the corridor and the tingle of the unfamiliar magic raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Draco shivered and lowered the faded book, placing it carefully on the decaying side table. The spell beckoned him, calling him to reveal himself, and for a second Draco succumbed. Lifting himself out of the dusty and fraying chair, Draco made it to the door of the library before he realized he didn't actually have to go any further.

Another second and he knew he had been responding out of ingrained habit and not out of any effect of the cast. His awareness of it was faint and now fading quickly. They weren't looking anymore, but Draco knew they would be back. They would find him. They had to.

He took his seat again calmly, flipping through crackling pages until he found where he'd left off. He still had a lot of studying left to do and now that they had arrived his time was running short. Potter and his not-so-merry band would need him to be well-versed. At least Granger would be of some use.

Their voices were not quiet as they wandered his familiar hallways, their footsteps loud on the disintegrating staircases. Draco shook his head in disgust; none of them had any sense of propriety.

But they were here. They were here and that meant it was finally time.

That was a thought that required a drink.

Draco set his book aside again and let himself out of the library, his steps practiced silence though the trolls stomping around the floor above would never have noticed him. He debated preparing tea for four but, while they had interrupted his study and had wands of their own, he had no way of knowing how long it would take them to make their way to him and keeping a tea service too long under spells was begging to be poisoned.

Milk and three sugars, too sweet and so a welcome distraction from the nerves he could feel building. He had never been able to stand the three of them when it hadn't been a matter of life and death and his resulting gratitude that at least it wasn't Longbottom left him feeling a mite nauseated.

His orders from Severus notwithstanding there was very little for him to do but wait for them to wander back into his corner of the house. It would be Granger first of course, bookworm that she was. Draco settled himself facing the library door, refusing to let her come upon him with his back turned. It had been years now, but he was sure she still packed a mean slap.

He didn't have to wait long, Granger had practically lived in the library at Hogwarts, while that collection was much more extensive the library at Grimmauld Place would have the selection they needed.

Her footsteps were confident as she stepped into his hallway. Granger had always acted like the libraries were her own. It used to irritate Draco but now he was only grateful that finally, finally, one of them was going to find him. 

She also knew some vicious hexes. Draco only hoped the shock of his presence slowed her reaction time a bit.

He stood and faced the door, hands calmly and obviously relaxed at his sides. It was worth a go.

“Malfoy?”

He couldn't help smirking at her gobsmacked expression. “As much as it would titillate you Gryffindors, I am not in fact a ghost.” He looked her over superiorly. “Despite your appearance to the contrary.”

He should have expected it, she was a Gryffindor and quite handy at muggle brawling, but the quick flash of her wand still surprised him.

“Expelliarmus!”

“For Merlin's sake, Granger! I didn't draw on you!” Draco spat, glaring and crossing his arms over his chest as she pocketed his wand. “Do be careful with that,” he commanded. “My mother purchased it for me,” he added softly.

She shook her bushy head and called for Potter.

Draco sighed, picking at a bit of dust on the sleeve of his robe. As excited as he'd been to get on with it, this was turning into a pisser of a day.

It sounded like elephants racing down the stairs to answer her call, the noise pounding into Draco's head more than usual. He winced as they landed in the library corridor and met Granger's back at the door.

“Hermione?” Weasley asked. “Why'd you call for us?”

Draco bit his tongue on the urge to point out that she had actually only called for Potter, answering the query instead. “That would be my doing, Weasley.” He stepped forward into the greater light from the hallway. “If I might say, she looks as though she's seen a ghost.”

His smug expression was lost when Weasley hauled him up on the tip of his toes and held him against the wall, wand pressing into Draco's throat. He couldn't swallow without the tip of it digging painfully into his skin.

“Ron!” Potter shouted at the same time Granger yelled “Don't!”

Weasley froze, holding Draco steady.

“Yeah, Weasley. Don't,” Draco hissed. “Don't kill the one who was sent here to save your arse.”

“Sent here to protect your own more like,” Weasley snarled. “Poor little Death Eater. Can't protect himself from his Lord.”

“Fuck off, Weasley,” Draco shouted, shoving the other boy away only to trip over Granger as she tried to get between them.

Potter grabbed his friend, adding his own presence to the barrier between them.

“Stop it, Ron!” Granger commanded, ignoring Draco now that they were separated. “He's wandless!”

Draco snarled, furious when Weasley immediately stopped, settling himself as though without his wand Draco didn't present a threat. The fact that he was mostly right only served to piss Draco off more.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Potter finally spoke, looking Draco over suspiciously.

Draco swallowed, remembering again that he was supposed to have the utmost control over himself in this situation. He pulled away from Granger, appalled that he hadn't noticed her touch sooner. He straightened his robes self-importantly. “I was sent here to help you of course.”

Three snorts and three variations of the same look met his pronouncement. They didn't believe him.

“Fucking Merlin,” he muttered to himself, undoing the buttons of his right cuff before shoving his sleeve high enough to bare his right hand and wrist. The rope-like scars of the Unbreakable Vow stood out clearly, even against his pale skin. “Satisfied?”

“Not remotely,” Granger responded, looking at his arm as though it were deformed.

“Show them the other one,” Potter commanded.

Draco blinked, thrown by the idea and not at all willing to comply. “Not possible, Potter.”

He noticed Granger didn't try to stop Potter from approaching him. She didn't move when Potter forced him closer and closer to the bookshelves, pinning him in place before seizing Draco's left wrist.

“Show them.”

Draco stared him in the eye, wondering if Potter truly thought this was necessary. But his grip on Draco's wrist was getting tighter, painful. Draco winced finally, looking away and jerking his arm out of Potter's suddenly lax grip. “Fine, Potter. But this helps nothing.”

He kept his eyes on Potter as he worked at the buttons of his shirtsleeve. “Absolutely nothing,” he whispered, freeing the last button and sliding the soft cloth up his arm.

Granger gasped as the first trace of spellwork showed beneath the folds of his sleeve, drawing his eyes to her instead.

Draco swallowed his self-disgust, catching the material over his fingers and shoving his sleeve up to his elbow. He looked down at the revealed skin with a sigh before straightening his arm to give them a better view.

Potter surveyed Draco's arm before looking back at his face. Granger gasped again, hands coming up to cover her face, though Weasley continued to stare at the damaged flesh.

“So it's true then. What Harry said all along. You're one of them.”

Draco tugged his sleeve back down to cover his Mark, redoing the buttons as though Weasley hadn't opened his mouth. “Satisfied, Potter?”

“Wait,” Potter snapped, grabbing Draco's wrist again.

“Piss off, Potter,” Draco hissed, trying to jerk away.

Potter shoved his sleeve up again, turning his forearm toward the hall light. “Hurt yourself running away then?”

Draco looked down at the healing scabs on his arm, berating himself for forgetting them. “Sure,” he answered, sliding his sleeve down to cover them again. He ignored them, finishing his buttons in peace and wishing he had remembered.

Draco glanced up again to gauge their reactions. Weasley still looked seconds from attacking him for something they had apparently already suspected, while Granger—bleeding heart that she was—appeared moments away from coddling him like a child. It would probably serve the mission, but it was the last reaction Draco wanted. It kind of made Draco wish Potter would just hit him already, that was a response he at least understood.

Draco shook his head before gesturing to the bookcases. “These are useless. I've been studying them for months. I'll be in my room if you...well, just come looking.” He made it to the door before Granger called him back.

“How did you get in?”

Draco turned back, letting a strange smile play on his lips. “A little birdy told me.”

 

.oOo.

 

He'd thought waiting was hard, but having them in the house finally and being mentally aware of them constantly was so much worse. It was better now that they knew he was there as well, that nagging itch to destroy a hutch full of irreplaceable china just to draw their attention was gone, but their distrust was palpable and their avoidance grating.

Draco had known it would be this way. He'd spent six years making sure they hated him—a job well done that—and then capped it off by attempting to murder their Merlin. Distrust was the least he could expect.

But he hadn't killed Dumbledore. He was as wanted as anyone in their world excepting the Boy-Who-Lived himself. That had to count for something. And doing it to protect his family like a complete Gryffindor? That had to be worth more than bare acknowledgment of his presence.

Sodding goody-goody Gryffindors. No heed for anyone but themselves, no viewpoint allowed but their own.

It was frustrating and maddening and despite all the time he had alone to think about it, Draco had come up with no way to change it. He wished Severus had had time for another visit.

 

.oOo.

 

Pain tore through his body, fire racing and setting his blood ablaze.  
Draco screamed and screamed, his throat raw and aching, and there was no way for him to shut himself away from the feeling. It raged through him continuously, his body tearing itself apart but finding no release.

He gasped and cried in waves, fingers scrabbling at the marble blocks beneath him and feeling absurdly grateful that he wasn't bleeding on his mother's fine carpets. She would forgive him anything but probably that.

A soft chuckle escaped him between bouts with the curse.

She was in his face in seconds, her stolen dress wrinkling in her furor. “Are you enjoying it as much as I am, Draco? Do you wish to speak?”

He drew in a ragged gasp, body shuddering and making it difficult. “Nothing, Auntie Bella. There's nothing to tell.”

She snarled, rising to tower over him. “Continue.”

Draco gasped before his body erupted in fire again. He screamed. “Severus,” he shouted, spitting blood from biting into his tongue.

The spell stopped immediately and she was back, demanding information.

Draco shook his head, throat and voice destroyed.

“Take him and heal him. We will start fresh after.”

He passed out gratefully before Severus could begin.

.oOo.

Dawn was barely touching the horizon when Draco woke to furious green eyes glaring balefully at him from about fifteen centimeters in front of his face. “Wha'? Potter?” He blinked drowsily. “Is this a dream?” 

“You tell me, Malfoy,” the other boy hissed, digging claw-like fingers into Draco's pajama top and trying rather unsuccessfully to drag him out of the bed.

“What the fuck, Potter?!” Draco shouted, tearing at his hands.

Despite their differing strengths, they were fairly evenly matched. Draco wasn't budging, but his shirt was another matter.

Draco stared wide-eyed as the first seam began to tear. “I swear to Merlin, Potter, if you tear my clothes I'll tell the mudblood you tried to rape me.”

“Like Hermione would believe that,” Potter sneered, releasing him anyway.

Draco flopped back into his blankets, staring mournfully at his damaged clothing. He would have to get Kreacher to repair it for him and then have to sit through an hour of groveling and fawning before it was done. Unless they gave him his wand back....

“You wouldn't happen to have my wand hidden somewhere in your rapist's gear?”

“Piss off, Malfoy,” Potter snapped, looking around the room in the growing light.

Draco had to acknowledge that it was much changed from when he'd moved into it. All those Hippogriff feathers had made him break out in hives and have panic attacks before Kreacher could remove them all. Sirius would be on the receiving end of a stern talking to one day. Honestly, keeping a creature like that in the bedroom. Unless he kept it for other reasons....

“Right,” Draco declared, dismissing that train of thought gratefully. “If not to return my wand, and other than manhandling a defenseless bloke, what are you doing in my room?”

“This is Sirius' room,” Potter explained, clarifying nothing.

“Yes, it was. And as master of the house, it's now mine,” Draco answered, ignoring Potter's bristling. “Actually, I should have taken Aunt Walburga's room, but I could never match her regard for house-elves. Beady little eyes watching you sleep, it's unnatural...”

Draco looked at Potter again. “Now why are you in my room?”

“It's not yours! And you are not the master of this house!” Potter shouted, his face flushed an angry red even in the dim light. 

“I beg to differ. You may have inherited, but that doesn't make me any less entitled.”

“Sirius wouldn't have wanted you here.”

“Wrong again, Potter. He was quite pleased for my mother when I was born. And quite taken with me.” Draco smoothed out the duvet. “He wouldn't have minded my staying in his room.”

Potter frowned and then seemed inclined to dismiss him so Draco slid out of the bed and walked to the antique wardrobe. He might as well get dressed since Potter didn't appear to be leaving and he didn't trust a Gryffindor enough to purposefully sleep around one.

“At least spell on the lights, Potter. Since you insist on loitering and not returning my wand.”

Lights flared even as Potter muttered something about earning trust.

Draco sneered, pulling a clean white shirt out of the wardrobe. “Seems to me my having a wand and not hexing you is the proper way. Else I'm a hostage.” 

“It doesn't matter, Malfoy. For the foreseeable future you're just a squib.”

It took everything Draco had –and the memory of sharply worded warnings from Severus– not to resort to muggle brawling. A squib indeed.

“Kindly piss off, Potter.”

He dressed quickly and quietly, pretending Potter was Crabbe or Goyle and not someone who would gladly shove his face into stone as soon as his back was turned. It was only a little easier than he thought it would be and that was only because every time he glanced up to check, Potter was definitely not looking at him.

“Did Sirius really like you?” Potter asked quietly.

Draco looked up to find him fondling the dragons. Potter had done a lot of that this morning.

 

.oOo.

 

Harry tugged at the fraying cord carefully, watching the frail wings beat as though they could still lift the small body into the air.

It was really remarkable that something so simple in design could still be so effective. Something so delicate could still be so powerful. It was beautiful.

“It's fake,” Malfoy spoke quietly.

Harry turned to glare at him, but Malfoy only had eyes for the dragons.

“They're all fake. Sirius wouldn't stand for a real one to be killed simply to make a toy.” He pulled on a different string, sending another dragon into simulated flight. “A Norwegian Ridgeback. See here, along the spine,” he trailed his finger carefully over the fake bone. “This part of the backbone remains uncovered, the muscles and skin attach lower. In adulthood it becomes quite sharp, turning the dragon's tail into something like a blade.” Malfoy stroked down to its tail. “I guess the young ones aren't expected to protect themselves.” 

“How do you know that,” Harry asked finally.

“Dragons are kind of my thing,” Malfoy replied with a smirk.

“No. How do you know what Sirius thought?”

Malfoy's smile fell quickly. “My mother.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “My father would never have approved, but once I outgrew the Bard, my bedtime stories were those of my mother's family. I think Father thought that in becoming a Malfoy, all the traditions and stories of the Blacks should have been left behind.” He glanced around the room, still filled with the mementos of a life half-lived. “But for pure-bloods, family is everything.” He frowned, “and I am my mother's son.”

Harry eyed him cautiously. “And Sirius?”

“Sirius was my mother's favourite cousin. She couldn't let on, especially after he was disowned, but I think she always admired him.”

“Then why betray him?”

“Because the Blacks are gone now. And we are dragons.”

Malfoy looked so sure of himself, so serious while talking rubbish, that Harry couldn't help laughing. He regretted it when Malfoy's eyes narrowed but laughed all the harder when the other boy seemed to remember he didn't have his wand.

Malfoy drew himself up to his rather unimpressive tallest. “You think Gryffindors are the only ones who can care about their children? At least my mother would fight for me rather than wait to die,” he spat, spinning on his heel and stalking out of the room. Or at least he tried to.

Harry watched Malfoy stumble to a stop as though someone had given his leash a yank.

“Sod this spell; sod the mission; sod you, Potter; and sod him for thinking we could make this work,” Malfoy heaved a full-body sigh. “It was that comment about Lily, he wouldn’t have liked that.”

Harry stepped closer slowly.

Malfoy turned around, rubbing carefully at his right hand. “I apologize, Potter. That remark about your mother was completely uncalled for.”

Harry stared at him until he rolled his eyes and huffed.

“I apologized, Potter, a response is customary.”

Harry snorted. “Grudgingly given apology smugly accepted, you prat.”

Malfoy nodded.

“I'll agree that your mother loves you, Malfoy, there's plenty of proof.” He looked away, shaking his head. “But she's gone about it all wrong.”

“I would say the same about yours, Potter.”

Harry nodded. “Fair enough. So...truce, then?”

Malfoy stared at his offered hand silently, clearly surprised and unsure before taking it in his own. “Might as well. It will make things easier in the end.” He smirked.

“Now,” Harry began with a careful smile, leading him out of the room. “Tell me more about Sirius.”

Malfoy smiled back. “What do you want to know?”

 

.oOo.

 

Potter ignored him again after that, as if they had never shared that moment over Sirius' dragons. It was just as well. Weasley was suspicious and Granger nosy, too much time not trying to kill each other and someone was bound to cry potion.

So Draco went back to his books, reading what was available and searching the old rooms for hidden libraries. They had to be there, all the oldest families secured their rarest and most illegal property.

But days of searching turned up a frustrating lack of dark books, and without contact with his mother, Draco had no idea how to search deeper within the house without injuring himself or setting the whole building ablaze.

They were planning something. Draco could feel it in the echoes of their whispers. Something stupidly Gryffindor no doubt, forgetting completely that the Dark Lord and most of his followers were wholly Slytherin. 

Their plan would fail. And when it did, Draco would have the smug satisfaction of pointing out that you never sent a Gryffindor to do a Slytherin's work.

Knowing he was under orders to help them didn't lessen his anticipation for the moment it all blew up in their faces and they finally had to acknowledge their need for him. Even if he had to admit that he would be right beside them when things went sour.

 

.oOo.

 

He felt it when they slipped past the proximity wards he'd placed around the potions lab and Draco cursed himself for not warding them out completely. Like the library, the lab was one of his rooms and they had no business going inside of it.

Especially when he could brew anything they needed faster and better than any of the three of them. Granger's skills were a slightly close second to his own but she didn’t have the imagination it would take to become a true master. Her knowledge was limited to text instruction.

In a world where most things were accomplished or made better through feel and experimentation, Draco thought that limitation was a solely 'muggle-born' one.

She had at least been civil when she refused his assistance or advice. When he'd last seen her, Granger had been pouring over the books he set aside as having already read. It was a waste of time when there was very little left to waste.

The civility ended there though. Weasley ignored him to the point of bumping into him, pushing Draco out of the way without seeming to even realize he'd done so. And Potter? Potter seemed to think him a child in need of minding.

He couldn't even point out the pure ridiculousness of the situation. Severus' terms curbed his more antagonistic tendencies. Which should have been appreciated by his present company but only seemed to make them more wary of him.

It was frustrating as all hell, being told to help and having that assistance denied, questioned, or ignored.

In the end he settled for breaking through the wards Granger had placed on his lab and tweaking their growing stores of polyjuice potion. One hour would not be enough for whatever they were planning.

.oOo.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Severus' voice called through his remaining haze before another potion vial was emptied down his throat.

Draco swallowed it eagerly, raw fingertips gripping his teacher's wrist tightly. “Did I –did I reveal anything, Severus?”

Dark eyes regarded him calmly. “Nothing, Draco. You've done very well.” He brushed Draco's fringe out of his eyes. “It will not be so easy again.”

Draco winced and nodded, turning away from those eyes that still knew him far too well. He wouldn't be able to keep the secret if she asked again. “How soon? Until she comes for me,” he clarified.

“Soon, Draco.”

“Will she kill me? Does the secret need to be passed?” Draco looked at his mentor anxiously, reading doubt and uncertainty where before there had always been clear certainty. “You don't know... I won't die,” he hissed fiercely.

 

Draco screamed, twisting and turning, tearing his skin open on the unforgiving stone. Severus had not lied. He couldn't think through the pain, even when she stopped the proceedings to question him again before commanding it continue.

He wished he'd had the good sense to die.

.oOo.

Ron and Hermione paced behind him, muttering about treacherous snakes and misplaced trust. Harry ignored them, listening for movement beyond where he could see.

Draco was strong enough to get through plenty but when they'd concocted this plan, they hadn't even considered this outcome.

“Why'd you have to say the name, Harry,” Ron whinged, coming to a stop somewhere behind him.

Harry sighed, letting his head fall back to rest between his shoulder blades. When Ron was feeling confrontational there was really no way out but through. “How were we supposed to know?” he answered sharply, eyes on the stone overhead.

“I told you we would have to be more careful, that it had been tabooed!”

“Ron! You're not helping,” Hermione admonished, stepping between them even though Harry had made no move to turn around.

Ron drew in a breath, no doubt about to defend himself and point out how Harry himself hadn't been all that much help yet either when even that was drowned out by screams from the ballroom above them.

Hermione cried out, covering her ears and closing her eyes as though that would help block it out.

Ron sneered, muttering that the ferret wouldn't be able to help himself now. That they were done for.

Harry turned to glare at him before beginning to pace. “Just shut up, Ron. You would spill everything you know, too.”  
.oOo.

Draco came to coughing, choking on the thick copper of his own blood as Granger called reassurances to the Weasel and Potter rifled through her beaded bag. He gagged, spitting the blood that had started it all out onto the ground. They never told you that pure blood and dirty blood looked exactly the same soaking into the dirt.

“You can't Stupify someone and then store them!” he shouted. “The compression alone can kill a person.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Potter growled, palming a small bottle of dittany.

Draco stood immediately, bloody face forgotten. “Who got splinched?”

“Ron!” Granger yelled, “Hurry, Harry.”

“Slowly, Granger,” Draco broke in. “If the skin comes together too fast, it'll never heal properly.”

“I know, Draco,” she shouted, tears standing in her eyes. Draco noted smugly that she did slow down her application of the dittany.

He watched silently --seething, waiting-- as she wrapped Weasley's arm carefully. He wiped at his bleeding nose, checking the alignment and finding gratefully that it hadn't in fact been broken. It was the only one of his features that he had inherited from his mum.

Finally, Weasley was resting as quietly as Gryffindors ever seemed to and wards had been placed around the area. 

“Granger, what were you thinking?!”

“Yaxley caught hold of me, and I couldn't get rid of him, he was too strong, and he was still holding on when we arrived at Grimmauld Place, and then—well, I think he must have seen the door, and thought we were stopping there, so he slackened his grip and I managed to shake him off and I brought us here instead.” 

Potter frowned. “But then, where's he? Hang on...you don't mean he's at Grimmauld Place? He can't get in there?”

Draco fumed as she nodded.

“Harry, I think he can. I-I forced him to let go, but I'd already taken him inside the Fidelius Charm's protection. Since Dumbledore died, we're Secret Keepers, so I've given him the secret, haven't I?”

“You're supposed to be the brightest witch of your age, Granger.” Draco shook his head in disgust. “You could have tried carrying You-Know-Who himself inside in your pocket and he wouldn't have seen the house. You are not a Secret Keeper. We were still safe there!”

“But Dumbledore died,” she fairly shrieked. “We're all the Keepers now.”

“No, you are not,” Draco spoke slowly, icily calm. “Another was chosen before his death.”

“What?” Potter asked, stepping between them to focus Draco's attention.

“At best he would have seen nothing. At worst, suffered from serious and extensive splinching.” Draco lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head toward Weasley's unconscious form. “But, of course, you already knew that.”

 

.oOo.

 

'Guard duty' with Potter was a ridiculous concept for many reasons. They were well hidden magically, guarding against others was pointless. Granger and Weasley seemed to think bickering incessantly was a symptom of true love, so being outside was really the only way to escape that bit of Gryffindorishness. And they still hadn't returned his wand, so all Draco could do if they were attacked would be to die like a Hufflepuff. His being there was utterly useless.

Still, annoying Potter with his mere presence was worth quite a lot after years of always being second best. Draco spent hours making up songs from the old stories of Molly the Mudblood and how she'd been mummified when her own spellwork turned against her. True stories of course, passed down for generations as a warning.

Potter just glared sullenly and clenched his fingers around his wand, prompting Draco to change the subject to something a little nearer and dearer.

Bobby the Blood traitor, who'd been bludgeoned to death by his own Muggle wife when she saw him cast a simple Lumos.

Another true story. A greater warning. More obstinate glaring from Potter.

Baiting Potter was at least a familiar activity, soothing in its everyday capacity.

.oOo.

The first time it happened Draco thought he'd woken up in one of his nightmares made reality. 

The dark familiarity of the tent was only a comfort until he realized what had awakened him. Low hissing filled the tent, orders and frightening joy mixed in the unintelligible sounds until Draco thought his heart might burst out of his chest and he kind of wished it would, if only so he wouldn't have to get up and face the Dark Lord.

But if they were in danger, if they had been found at last, he wasn't going to die lying flat on his back.

Draco slithered to his feet carefully, eyes tracking over the shadowed stillness of their quarters. Nothing moved but the hissing continued.

His footsteps echoed his heartbeat in slow distortion as Draco stepped cautiously toward what he knew could be his doom.

The hissing continued, quieter and then louder, a conversation with no one. 

As his heart rate slowed, he edged closer to Potter's darkened bunk, trying to determine whether he was hearing what he thought he was hearing or if the Gryffindor had found a special new way to snore. Draco hoped it was just a mild form of apnea.

“Potter?” he whispered into the darkness. More hissing answered him but nothing seemed to move.

He itched to reach for his wand but long months without it had stopped what had once been an involuntary movement. Instead he clenched his hands at his sides, wary of reaching into the unknown to wake Potter if he was only sleeping.

“Potter,” he spoke a little louder, unwilling to draw Granger or Weasley's attention if there was no need for them.

Still nothing stirred except the light hairs on his arms as the eerie hissing continued.

“Potter, please,” he added softly, nearly in the small alcove of the Gryffindor's bed. He was close enough to touch now, Draco knew that much, but not knowing what he would find made him leery of reaching out. “Potter,” he called one more time, hand trembling so much he was glad for the dark.

His fingers passed over Potter's shoulder before a strong hand gripped him. “Potter?” he gasped hopefully.

“Malfoy?”

Pale light flared within Potter's bunk, his wand providing minimal illumination.

Draco looked him over carefully, grateful for every strand of messy black hair. “Thank fuck...” he whispered.

“Why'd you wake me up,” Potter asked mulishly.

“You were having a nightmare. It sounded like– ” Draco stopped himself, unwilling to say it out loud in the relative peace of the tent.

“Sounded like what,” Potter asked suspiciously. And a little fearfully in Draco's estimation.

“Nothing, Potter. It must have been my imagination.”

Potter looked doubtful but Draco didn't care. He went back to his own bunk, feigning sleep though he didn't actually give in to it until faint light poured through the canvas walls around him.

.oOo.

They were at Draco again, his ragged screams filtering through solid stone and hardly dimmed when it reached the three waiting. Hermione was crying openly now, her face pressed into Ron's shoulder, arguments forgotten in favor of their approaching deaths.

Harry stared at them, wide-eyed and hating himself for allowing this to happen to them.

 

.oOo.

 

Draco cradled the ancient book, his fingers sliding over the crisp pages of his book, its handwritten Greek faded through time. It was beautiful work, the script written in Cadmus' own hand from a past made present through Ptolemy. 

A wealth of knowledge lay within, great truths. 

Draco loved the Greek histories and classics. The lives of the greatest the world had ever known, a time when gods walked the Earth as mortal men. A world now overlooked and essentially lost. 

Draco sighed, stretching out on his bunk carefully. Considering the ever present danger just by being anywhere near the 'Golden Trio', he had nothing else to pass the time here and his Greek was always in need of sharpening. 

These were his favourites. Not Renaissance writing to be sure, but there was an untouched quality to the beauty of it that could not be dimmed through time or the filtering of the modern mind. 

These histories would last, undeniable, unchanging. As it should be. 

Draco read on, everything else forgotten in the rush of words. 

History, he had found, was really about love. Certainly it was full of great wars, of battles that must have rocked the earth. But it was also filled with great passion. 

Tales of companionship that really had been the forever kind. The kind sappy music prattled on about but never seemed to genuinely capture.

He'd always liked to daydream about it. Imagine a love, a friend that would be with him even beyond death. One who would stand at his side no matter the dangers. 

He imagined he was Achilles, fighting for the honour of his friend. Alexander, who longed for the world but mourned for what was in the past. He wanted it all.

Had grown up knowing he needed it. 

 

.oOo.

 

“Do you suppose he's dead?”

“Ron!”

“Well, if he is at least we don't have to take him with us anymore.”

“Harry, explain it to him again.”

Draco woke slowly, their words filtering into and shaping his dreams. He let out a groggy sigh before he could stop himself.

“See, Ron. Not dead.”

Sometimes Draco wished he was, rather than wake up to this lot. Especially when they seemed to be towering over his bed. “What do you want?” he mumbled, finally cracking his eyes open to take in the rabble. Granger at least only looked disapproving, the Weasel furious. Potter was comfortably restrained. That mollified him a bit. 

Then he noticed his scattered scrolls and the book he had left lying open. Draco scrambled up quickly, shoving the scrolls under his cot and gently closing the book. He ran his fingers carefully over the binding, smoothing the crease that had formed from lying open too long. He cursed himself quietly. Books were meant to be handled with care, especially a millennia old one-of-a-kind tome. His father would...

His father would nothing, he thought with a pained grimace. He was here, hiding with St Potter and his merry band. Pathetic. 

Draco sat carefully, facing them though he hid the text behind his back. He hadn't been allowed many belongings on this trip and he'd be damned if any of them was going to lay one finger on his treasure. 

They stood looking at him silently, a mix of contempt and curiosity. The goody Gryffindor mentality was really beginning to get to him. 

He sighed loudly. “I'm alive. Awake. You can all kindly sod off.”

Almost as one they turned their backs on him, returning to whatever they had been focused on before the brief interlude. For the best really, their gawking had disrupted his first peaceful sleep in over a year and he was not inclined to be charitable about it. 

He hid his book carefully in the bottom of his small bag. Shrinking it would hide it better, but he'd learned from his father how that would damage fragile or important books. If he ruined this one...

 

.oOo.

 

Harry watched the protective way the Slytherin handled his book. It was the mildest, most caring thing he had ever seen him do. He looked down at the crumpled scroll in his hand, squinting to read the messy scrawl in the dim light of his own bunk.

.oOo.

He should have expected it to happen again, prepared for it, but denial had always been his favourite coping mechanism and anything unacknowledged couldn't possibly exist.   
But no matter how he tried to ignore it, there was something wrong with Potter.

The second time it woke him, Draco knew exactly what it was and felt a little less worry about approaching Potter's bed.

Once again, Potter gave no reaction to Draco calling his name. Or even at first to Draco's hand on his shoulder. Draco shook him, unable to see where the hissing itself was coming from but experiencing less and less doubt.

“Potter, wake up,” he demanded fiercely, lighting his wand carefully. “Pott—” he had to bite off a scream when familiar red eyes blinked at him in the low light. 

“Potter?” he asked softly, heart in his throat when Potter opened his mouth to reply and all that came out was that loathsome hiss. 

He kept in another scream only by biting viciously into his lower lip.

“My Lord,” he tried carefully after a few moments of those eyes only blinking at him.

The Dark Lord's eyes closed and after a few seconds Potter woke up. Green eyes blinked in the unexpected light before he focused on Draco at his bedside.

“Malfoy?”

“You were dreaming again,” Draco whispered, swallowing again and again to work some moisture back into his mouth. “It was just a dream.”

“Then why are you kneeling beside my bed?”

Draco blinked, darting a quick look down to find that he had dropped to his knees at some point during that feared confrontation. “No reason,” he lied uneasily. “No reason at all.” Certainly not because that was what the Dark Lord demanded of his followers. Better if Potter never knew.

“Go back to sleep, Potter,” he whispered roughly.

 

.oOo.

The walk down the dungeon stairs was the longest Draco had ever experienced—even beyond their flight from Hogwarts—and he couldn't get his mind settled enough to count the steps.

His whole body shivered, nerves flaring and raw, every sense exposed to the harshness of the outside. Draco's teeth chattered and his knees quivered, his steps faltering as impulses failed to connect and threatened to send him toppling into the dark.

He slumped immediately after being forced into the cell with the others, his body too overcome to even stand.

“What'd you tell them,” Harry asked immediately, followed by Granger's “We trusted you!” and Weasley's “Once a ferret, always a Death Eater.”

Draco shivered, fingers clawing at the rough cotton of his clothes.

“Draco,” a soft voice called seconds before Loony Lovegood settled on her knees beside him. She traced her fingers over his quivering arms with a confused but understanding smile. “I've never known nargles to be so cruel.”

Draco barked out a painful and harsh laugh. “Neither have I.” He looked up at the frowning and disgusted trio. “I got the book,” he whispered before slipping into unconsciousness again.

 

.oOo.

 

Draco watched Harry—and it was Harry now—stare forlornly down at the unfolded Marauder's Map. It didn't take a genius, or even someone who had spent the last six years observing the Boy-Who-Lived very closely, to know that he was mooning over the littlest Weasley.

Gryffindors.

Draco observed for several minutes before taking a peek at the map himself. He couldn't say he was all that surprised to see Ginevra Weasley's tag in close quarters with her former flame Michael Corner.

“Stalking your ex-girlfriend is not exactly a healthy activity.”

“It's not stal—she's not exactly my ex.”

“You dumped her so you could run off with your mates, Harry. She's definitely an ex.”

“I just did that to keep her safe,” Harry answered, staring at the parchment in his lap.

“And while you're out gallivanting in the woods, there are Death Eaters teaching at Hogwarts. Who's really keeping her safe?”

“Piss off, Malfoy.”

“Delusional and immune to the truth,” Draco shook his head derisively. “You were well placed.”

 

.oOo.

 

“Merlin's craggy arse, Potter! I could hear your emotional bleating through the walls.”

“Fuck,” Harry yelped, dragging his pillow over his crotch.

“Don't try to hide it now, Potter,” Draco sneered, settling on the bunk across from Harry's. “God and Merlin have already seen that ridiculous face you make.”

“Piss off, Malfoy,” Harry growled, stretching to reach his discarded pants.

“Come on, Potter, I already have to listen to it, might as well add being watched to your no doubt extensive list of kinks.” He shifted to rest against the tent wall. “Do you imagine a fanny when you wank? Hot and wet and opening to you with little fuss?” He grimaced, “surely not the ginger bint? Your best friend might have a few words to say about that.” He looked Potter over. “Then again, what's not for them to love...”

“What do you mean?” Harry snapped.

“But maybe you fantasize about arse. A nice, tight arse; a fit body, hard in all the right places; fighting you even as you plow deeper.”

“Why don't you go bug Ron and Hermione?”

“They've gone berry picking,” Draco smiled. “Which I honestly think is code for fucking. And thank Merlin for that. The tension was becoming oppressive. How you've dealt with that for years is beyond my imagination. And I can imagine a lot.

“Are you still hard under that pillow, Potter? I'd wager you are. All this talk of fannies and arses, bound to get the blood up.”

“You're the one talking about it! Are you hard, Malfoy?”

Draco palmed himself. “Not yet. But a bit more talk of arses and I could be.”

“Please just go away now, Malfoy.”

“I don't think so, Potter. It's too much fun seeing you with your legs spread like a whore.”

“I swear to Christ, Malfoy, if you don't get out of here now...”

“Can't, Potter, no one to keep an eye on me out there.”

“So you're keeping an eye on me instead.”

“Two of them, I promise.”

Harry smirked. “Let's see yours then.”

“What?” Draco blinked.

“You want to watch me, I should get to see you too.”

“Hardly the same, Potter,” Draco snapped.

“Scared?”

Draco drew himself up defensively. “I'm not scared of anything. Least of all a speccy git like you.”

“I bet.”

“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco snarled, ripping at the button of his trousers. He gripped his cock, stroking it to hardness quickly.

Harry threw aside his pillow, resuming his own strokes.

“You must be pathetically fast in bed,” Draco sneered, watching Potter toss off quickly. 

“It's more about meeting the need than putting on a show, Malfoy.”

“It's always about putting on a show,” Draco corrected him, sliding his hand over his cock leisurely. 

“Not if you want to avoid an even more annoying interruption than you are.”

“We've got time yet,” Draco conceded. “No doubt Granger really will come back with berries.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, she will.”

“So slow down. This is supposed to be enjoyable.”

“I was enjoying it until you walked in.” 

“You're enjoying it now, Potter.”

Harry ignored that, sliding his hand over his erection.

“But discretion is the better part of valor,” Draco hissed across the small space. He increased the pace of his hand and watched Harry match it.

The corner of his mouth quirked up as he watched Harry watch him. It was disgusting how good it felt to have his undivided attention.

Draco stroked himself faster, whispering encouragements to Harry even though he knew he couldn't hear them. He shouldn't have wasted so much time outside the tent-- neither Granger or Weasley would normally trust him so long. Even if he was still wandless.

“Come on, Potter,” he called, bollocks tightening as the sound of Granger's laugh echoed into their small clearing. “Time's almost up.”

Harry nodded, stroking himself faster.

“Least she's in a good mood, eh,” Draco smirked, thighs tensing.

“Opening your mouth isn't helping, Malfoy.”

“Pity,” Draco laughed, coming into the tight grip of his hand.

Potter followed a few seconds later, gasping before grabbing his wand and cleaning them up quickly.

“Thanks for that,” Draco acknowledged, doing up his trousers again and watching as Potter did the same.

 

“What the fuck is the ferret doing on my bed?!”

Draco smirked. “Apologies, Weasley. Can't imagine what came over me.” He stood easily, moving to his own bunk. “But I know what I'd like to,” he whispered so only Harry would hear.

 

.oOo.

 

He felt fevered, his nerves firing and on fire. He shivered but not from the chill that was no doubt in the room. Draco tried to hold himself still and pay attention to Granger as she flipped pages in the book he had almost died to find. He wanted to snap at her to be more careful with it but it was all he could do to remain upright.

His entire body spasmed and twitched, responding to a stimulus that had been removed. His godfather was not torturing him on his aunt's order. Draco closed his eyes and shook.

“Harry?” Lovegood's voice carried from where she had rested as close to Draco as his body's continuous movement would allow. “Harry, he needs help. The nargles aren't responding to me. They must have gone feral.”

Draco's laugh sounded brittle to his own ears, his shakes disguising his amused movement.

Harry stopped his ridiculous search for some means of escape and he approached their huddled forms. “Are you cold?” he asked after a few seconds of observing Draco.

“I wish,” Draco hissed. “The Cruciatus is not relaxing under the best of circumstances.”

“Bellatrix?”

“Severus,” Draco whispered, letting his head fall back on the cold stones beneath and behind him.

“Why?”

“Because she told him to.” Draco shook his head, forcing himself to forget all of that. “What about the book? Did it come out all right?” Is it useful? he meant but couldn't ask. Searching for another one would be certain death rather than just the possibility of it.

“I'm not sure yet,” Granger responded absently, squinting at the old pages in the dim light.

Draco sighed. It would figure if he went through all of that for nothing. If he put Severus through it for nothing.

Harry looked between them for a minute before crouching down beside Draco. “I'm warmer than the stone and more solid than Luna,” he answered Draco's incredulous look.

Draco nodded and let it go.  
.oOo.

 

He could hear sounds of talking and laughter through the confining walls of their tent. The gentle rush of water surrounded them, calming in its effect. Draco had always liked the sounds of nature. There were very few birds here, unlike some of their other camping locations, but the lowered river made up for it. Provided an actual bath rather than an assisted cleaning charm even if the water was cold enough his testicles tried to migrate north. But it was something new in a time of nauseating sameness.  
Light splashes followed their talking and preceded their laughing. That was something new too. Lighthearted moments had been few since he had joined the Golden Trio on their questing. He thought it must be because of his presence. They had always seemed happy enough at school.

Potter was pouring over books that he kept retrieving and returning to Granger's odd little beaded bag, searching for clues to something. Whatever this quest was truly meant for. It had been months now and they still saw fit to exclude him from all that they could.

But all of this nothing was unbearably dull. He'd gone through Granger's textbook collection relearning things he already knew to the point of repeating it in his sleep. Or so the Weasel said; Granger had commented on discussing theories with him and Potter had remained surprisingly silent. 

Then again, after all these years of honest rivalry, Potter rarely spoke to him at all so perhaps he hadn't had anything to add, even if he shared Draco's side of the tent. Or maybe he just knew the conversation would be beyond him. Which pleased Draco, but meant that when the other two were otherwise occupied, the tent was oppressively silent.

It grated on him. Knowing there were things he could or should be doing but being left to stare sullenly at beige walls was terribly frustrating.

He'd even pointed out their limited supply of potions and offered to brew more, anything to do more than he was, but had been shot down. They didn't remain in place long enough for the potions they really needed and brewing cauldrons didn't travel well. Bored or no, Draco had to concede to that bit of wisdom. But something...

Draco sighed, running agitated fingers through his hair before shoving himself out of his chair. He pushed the tent flap open, warm light spilling into the gloomy atmosphere. It filled him with a welcome peace, to step out into the sun again. He let the flap slip closed behind him, breathing the fresh air in deep.

“As much time out of there as I can,” he vowed, ducking his head and sliding his hands into the front pockets of his trousers. They needed a good scrubbing. He grimaced, washing wasn't something he was used to doing for himself but months of living in forests meant it became necessary. If only he had his wand.

“Oi! Ferret!”

Draco tensed, back straightening in outrage as he turned to glare at the wanker.

“Where you goin'?”

Draco looked at the Mudblood but she was ignoring him again—for the best really—skipping stones as the Weasel had clearly been instructing her.

He sneered at Weasley, showing him his middle finger before continuing on his original path. The other boy snarled something but he was too far away for Draco to hear it now—also for the best. Potter had taken to Stupifying him when he and the Weasel got into a row.

Draco thought that was rather unfair as he was the only one without a wand, but it seemed only Granger agreed and then only to a certain point. Draco hated the lot of them.

He found a large enough rock and settled on it, carefully angled so that he could see what the two of them were doing without it being obvious that he was watching. And Draco was. Because jumping rocks was never something he had learned to do. A plebeian exercise his father had said. So Draco understood the theory and mechanics—after all it couldn't be that hard, children and Mudbloods did it—but to actually do it properly himself? Never.

It was quite disgusting really.

He watched in morbid fascination as the Blood Traitor taught Granger how to do it, grey eyes tracking each movement and its result, cataloging the process to try when no one could see him. He couldn't show even that weakness, a small thing really, but a disadvantage nonetheless.

After a while even that grew boring, Draco shifted on his rock, facing further away so that he wouldn't have to look at them. The wind shifted with him, reminding the blond quite fiercely of his earlier thoughts on washing. He knew more than his clothes needed it and no matter how chill the water was, it was loads better than asking Granger or Potter to perform the spell for him. Asking Weasley was laughable. There was no way Draco would ever let the other boy point a wand at him, benign spell or no. Even if it left Draco having to wash his own clothing. Perhaps it was fortunate he'd been allowed only the set on his back, it certainly cut down on laundering time. It meant Draco had to wander about starkers while his things dried though.

He looked back over his shoulder cautiously but the Gryffindors had gone back to the tent, no doubt glad of a chance to talk without having to bother with Silencing charms. Now would be as good a time as any then.

Draco kept a careful eye on the tent as he unbuttoned his outer shirt and trousers, dropping them and toeing off his socks before tugging his undershirt over his head. He left his shoes on the rock but carried his other discarded pieces of clothing with him, walking gingerly over the rocks to the water's edge.

He cast one more glance at the tent but there was still no movement around its circumference. Draco pulled his pants off slowly, always reluctant to do so in these places. Charms or no, you could never be sure who might be watching.

 

Harry glanced up when the blond released an explosive sigh, pushing out of his chair to stalk toward the door. Blinding light poured in, equal darkness returning when he stepped outside.

Harry went back to his studying, ignoring Ron calling out to the Slytherin but with no doubts he would hear all about it later. With the others watching him, Harry could focus on the hunt.

Within 10 minutes of the blond disappearing outside Ron and Hermione were coming back in, meaning Harry was back on duty. They expected Harry to have all the answers or at least the means to reach them and yet they couldn't leave him alone long enough to figure out if he even had all the right pieces.

They were arguing again, momentary truce over skimming stones apparently forgotten. It made Harry's head ache to listen to their bickering while trying to figure out how to literally save all of their lives.

Harry heaved an explosive sigh of his own, pushing away from the table and heading for the exit.

“Harry—”

“Mate.”

He shook his head. “Work it out. I can't think in here and someone should be watching Malfoy. He's been restless for days now.”

They were silent as he left, quiet as he skirted the back of the tent, and then as he reached a hidden place to watch the Slytherin, there were thumps and bumps as they made up. Gryffindors, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Malfoy's hissed inside his head. Crazy or not, Harry was inclined to agree.

Soft voices crept through the spelled canvas of their tent, gasps that sat Harry's teeth on edge. Of course they were doing this now!

He couldn't shift in his bunk or cough to remind them that despite appearances, they were not alone. Harry glared at the tent, grateful for its density. He loved them both, but never wanted to be a witness—willing or otherwise—to this aspect of their relationship.

A flash of pale light drew his eyes back to Malfoy, expecting the blond to still be occupying his rock, not slowly removing his clothes. Harry swallowed quickly, green eyes darting around their silent clearing. What the hell was Malfoy doing? They were on the run, hiding from Death Eaters and the git was performing a strip show.

Harry wanted to yell at him, even stood up to do so when Malfoy bent to pick up his discarded clothing, carrying it to the water.

He was... washing his clothes, Harry realized with a half guilty grimace. He didn't even know that the blond knew how. It was kind of a shock to see the Slytherin doing something so... normal. Especially when cleaning charms were so much faster and he only had to ask.

Except he never would.

Harry sighed, irritated with the pointy git. Now he'd get ill and be more of a bastard to Ron and Hermione. Which would make them more short-tempered with him than they already were and after everything, Harry knew he was not their favourite person. So of course he would be the one taking care of the bitchy Slytherin.

He promised himself that if that was the outcome of Malfoy trying to be useful, Ron would be on his own the next time he pissed Hermione off. Which was one revenge he would have sooner rather than later.

A smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth, a hard stare directed at the other two Gryffindors even if they would never know.

Harry turned back to the occupied Slytherin, heart tripping in his chest to find the blond crouched in the shallow water, bare for all the world—and gawking Boys-Who-Lived—to see.

Harry's breath whooshed out quietly, his hand clapping firmly over his mouth. If Malfoy caught him peeking, Harry would reach a whole new level of abuse at the outraged Slytherin's hands.

Harry spared the oblivious pair another glare. If they weren't in there he could have gotten his cloak. If they hadn't run him out of the tent he might have found the right piece of information and they would finally stop looking at him like he was the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Disappoint.

Which was how the Dursleys looked at him whatever his successes or the fact that they had no idea of the moniker attached to Harry's life no matter how much he hated it. To be famous because he hadn't died. And his parents had. That was a bloody moronic system of logic.

Another flash of movement caught his eye, dark head lifting to find Malfoy out of the water laying his clothes to dry. Harry's eyes flicked to the blond's flaccid cock, jiggling each time he shifted, perfectly comfortable with himself in a world where no one but Voldemort could make that claim.

It was another shock. That after everything, there could be some measure of acceptance.

Harry swallowed against sudden tears, blinking the offending liquid away quickly, a strange feeling in his chest. He had no idea where it the strong emotion came from, or what it could even be. Glancing between the tent wall and Malfoy bathing in the cold of the river, Harry swallowed guiltily. None of this was their fault really. Ron and Hermione were his friends and were only there because they loved him. Any problems their relationship might have had now stemmed from the stress he put on it.

Even the Slytherin in their midst couldn't be blamed for his part in this, no matter how much Harry wished that wasn't the case. Malfoy was as much a victim of circumstance as any of them were.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, especially as he watched the other boy washing in cold water while the rest of them had only to flick their wrist.

It made him feel like they had all been shite to the blond. More than he deserved anyway.

 

He dropped his rumpled shorts beside the rest, digging out the bit of soap he had hidden away. Always better to not remind them he was still lacking his wand.

Draco crouched carefully in the ankle deep water, shivering as he reached for a larger stone to hold down his loose clothing. Without a spell they could float away all too easily, he'd almost lost his cloak that way before his yell had called Potter to the rescue. Ponce. Besides, this way they were properly wet and with his soap and the rocks of the riverbed as a scrubbing board, he was getting better and faster at washing his things.

He scrubbed them quickly, fingers and toes numbing in the cool rush of water, lifting each piece to sniff as he finished it and tossing it onto the dryer rocks. His pants he left out of the smell test, that was just too weird and no one would be getting close enough to them anyway. Washing them was more for his own comfort.

He left his soap on a rock sticking up out of the water, moving to lay his clothes out to dry and grateful for a moment out of the water.

He spared another look at the tent and still found no movement. Odd but welcome considering he was bare-arse naked and this still counted as in public. He'd been reared better than this.

Though of course, this hadn't been in his parents' life plans 17 years ago. So maybe it was their fault after all.

Draco banished the thought, finishing with his clothes. Better not to think of them, it led him to slip-ups and mentioning, something none of his companions could stand. Those thoughts had to stay locked inside his head, like so much of everything else, he thought sadly.

He hadn't had a decent conversation in months, putting off Granger any time she brought up something he would have liked discussing. Just not with her.

Leaving his clothes Draco stepped back into the flowing water, shivering in the renewed chill and stopping only for his soap before stepping into deeper water.

It passed around his waist easily, breaking against him before running on. Draco imagined he was like the water. Strong and adaptable. He had to be.

He lathered up quickly, holding the bar between his teeth with a grimace. He couldn't lose it, finding that one piece had been a chore in itself and he didn't fancy asking for more.

The water rinsed him as soon as he had soaped, saving him from extra immersions.

He ran his hand quickly over his cock, giving it a superficial cleaning so he could focus on cleaning under his foreskin properly. For this one spot he would have begged for heated water, but Malfoys never beg. So he just had to be fast and thorough. Draco was getting better at it.

He slid quick fingers through the cleft of his arse, knowing he could clean it better in the tiny tent bathroom. That felt much less awkward because he knew the others had to too.

The taste of the soap was creeping into his mouth when he drew it out to finally soap his hair. Draco dunked quickly, wetting his hair. This was the truly bothersome part of it. His hair was suffering with the lack of proper care. It was easier to focus on his shaggy hair than the ribs he could count while washing his body. Much nicer to focus on the parts he couldn't hide beneath his clothing.

He soaped his hair gently, missing the creamy mixes he used to brew for himself.

A deep breath later and Draco slipped beneath the water's surface, long fingers scrubbing the last of the soap from his hair. He surfaced with a sputter, icy water streaming into his eyes as he pushed his hair back behind his ears.

He blinked, grey eyes turning toward the bank with his drying clothes. And Potter.

 

Quiet rose around him. Hermione had finally been kind enough to cast a Silencing charm. The area around the tent was peaceful.

Harry's eyes drifted back to the Slytherin, watching the soapy bar pass over the blond's skin, smooth except for the thin pink scars Harry knew covered Malfoy's chest. Its bubbles lasted only a moment in its wake, swirling away in the water. Harry felt like that water churned inside him, thoughts swirling from one mode of being to another.

He tried to force the thoughts aside, focus on keeping watch on Malfoy even if the boy seemed well enough.

Watching him was distracting, observing the hesitant way Malfoy slid his long fingers over the stained skin of his left forearm. Disgust gurgled in Harry's stomach. No matter what, Malfoy had chosen his path.

Malfoy's attention moved to his cock, cleaning himself with a thoroughness that shocked Harry and made his pants tighten uncomfortably, imagining the blond's gentle care focused on him.

The blond's hands slid over his arse, drawing a tortured groan from Harry that he had to hide quickly, teeth digging into the fleshiest part of his palm to stifle it. He could imagine it was his own fingers sliding against the hidden skin, opening the blond for more.

Harry shook his head with a grimace, shoving the images away fiercely.

He had a few ideas about their hunt that he could toss around with the Slytherin, Ron and Hermione were distracted, now would be the time. Except Harry was so hard he knew the blond would see it as soon as he was close enough.

His moment came finally when the Slytherin began to soap his dripping hair. He paid special attention to the trademark Malfoy blond locks Harry had noticed. Keeping his mouth shut about Malfoy's prissing and primping almost killed him. But it gave Harry time to settle comfortably on the low bank of the river.

 

Draco swallowed, unsure when the Gryffindor had joined him and desperately aware that the other boy might have been watching the whole time. They did that occasionally, always seeming to take turns and follow him when he least expected it.

He was extremely vulnerable. Of course it would be Potter monitoring his every move.

Draco sighed, reaching up to pull the soap from between his teeth and taking a mouthful of water to rinse. He watched Potter watching as he spit it out again.

Freak, Draco thought unkindly, striding carefully over the worn rocks back to where Potter sat waiting.

It was uncomfortable, the water revealing more of his bared skin with every step, Potter watching with careful eyes as though Draco might finally try something against him. The blond wished he could throw a stone at the voyeur.

“Like a good show, Potter,” he drawled, stopping in front of the Gryffindor to pick up his pants. Draco slid them on slowly, aware of green eyes following each movement and exceedingly grateful that his clothing was mostly dry.

“Was the water that cold, Malfoy,” Potter sneered, eyes sliding over his prominent ribs and hipbones and down to Draco less prominent bulge.

Draco almost punched him for the insult. If he could have felt his fingers he might have no matter the later consequences.

“Pretty fucking cold, you git,” he answered, buttoning his trousers and reaching for his undershirt. Draco laid his soap on a close rock, needing it to dry before it could go back in his pocket, and slipped his arms through the sleeves of his wrinkled button-down.

Potter looked him over carefully. “Why didn't you just use a spell.”

An emotion that was a strange mix of disgust and sorrow spread through Draco. “I can't.”

 

.oOo.

 

The dungeon stairs remained unlit but Draco would recognize his father's unsteady gait anywhere. His slow limp had become even more pronounced in the time Draco had been away.

Draco straightened uncomfortably, shifting away from Harry's solid weight. He knew exactly what his father would have to say about that and didn't fancy another round with the Cruciatus.

Their small group gathered together as tightly as they could, watching Lucius Malfoy's shadow loom closer. Draco shivered as his ribs shifted.

But it was not on him that his father directed his focus. Like Draco in all their years at school, Lucius had eyes only for Harry Potter.

Despite even Lovegood's airy judgment, Harry answered his father's beckoning. Exchanging fast, angry words and slow, deliberating ones that made Draco wish he had answered the call as well. Whatever they seemed to be agreeing to could not end well for anyone except the Dark Lord.

They took turns glancing at their odd assembly, eyes falling on Draco before shifting back to their quiet argument.

Draco wished he had a wand again if only to remind them that there was more involved in this than themselves and time was running out. Lucius would be missed soon.

“Potter,” he called softly. “There's no point.”

Both men turned to stare at him and Draco had to fight not to avert his eyes.

Harry walked back over quickly. “It's not like that.”

“It's dangerous to speak to him,” Draco reminded him. “Whatever he gets out of you will be used against us.”

Harry smiled, spreading his clenched fingers. “I was getting something out of him.”

His mother's hair comb. The one she had been wearing the last time he'd seen her.

“But that's—”

“A way out,” Harry promised.

Draco ignored him, eyes only for his father.

“Take him and go. You have fifteen seconds,” he hissed at Harry.

Draco gasped as many hands grabbed him in painful places, each making certain to have a tight hold.

“Father, I...” for a moment he had no words, and then it didn't matter because he was being squeezed from all sides, suffocating under the pressure and being jerked away from the certain and agonizing death of his family. 'Be safe' echoed in his ears even as he landed with a painful thump.

Draco vomited immediately, acid burning its way up his esophagus as he dry heaved, choking on the need to breathe.

“Easy, Malfoy,” Harry hissed when he jerked away from the blunt press of his wand. “Respiro.”

Draco gasped, sucking in as much air as his lungs could take before he promptly passed out.

 

.oOo.

 

Shell Cottage on the outskirts of Tinworth. It was a beautiful place. The view of the sea from his small window was a welcome relief after their months of camping.  
They'd gone to the sea every summer of his childhood, until he'd gone away to Hogwarts that was. After that his father was too busy to go on holiday, his mother was too occupied with finding a suitable pure-blood girl for him to someday marry, and Draco would never have admitted that he used to look forward to those trips most of all.

They probably wouldn't ever take another one together again.

Draco wished he was a Seer or had an extra emotional connection to his parents. He'd read about people who knew when things happened to their loved ones, had a sense of it, but Draco had nothing like that. He could only assume they were already dead.

The knock, when it came, was expected but unwelcome.

“Come in then, Harry.”

The other boy ducked in sheepishly, settling on the edge of Draco's bed when he didn't turn away from his view of the ocean.

“Draco, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Clearly. You are here after all.”

“Malfoy...”

Draco turned to face him finally. “Alright, let's get this out of the way. I'm alive and I know I owe that to you. I'm probably the last of my family and that's completely our own fault. I knew before that it would probably be a very long time before I could go home again,” Draco sighed and picked at his blanket. “But now, unless you defeat him, I can never go home again.”

“You're safe, Draco. You will be.”

“Only if you win.” Draco sighed, “what did you want to ask me?”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. “About Bellatrix. What did she want?”

Draco shuddered, pressing himself back into his pillow. “She just wanted to know where we'd been, what we wanted, how we were keeping hidden.”

“What'd you tell her?”

Draco sneered, jerking his shirt up to reveal his bandaged sides. “What do you think I told her?”

“Calm down! It's not healthy for you to get overexcited.”

“'Overexcited'?!” Draco nearly bellowed, catching himself as his ribs protested. “I was sworn to secrecy, in more ways than you can imagine, and you think I told her everything,” he hissed.

“I didn't come in here to rile you, Draco. I wanted to thank you for standing up to her even though she's family, even though she nearly killed you for it. I, uh, I actually meant to return this a while ago...” Harry offered him a small smile as he pulled Draco's hawthorn wand out of his pocket. “You deserved it long before now.”

Draco took it back gently, curling his fingers around the carved handle. “Why?” he asked softly, glancing up quickly before returning to the once familiar sight.

“I told Hermione that if you were going to be of any use to us, you would need your wand back.”

“Why now?”

Harry shrugged. “I'm going to need your help.”


End file.
